Death and All Her Friends
by Dissonencia
Summary: There is a famous killer that currently terrorizes the whole of East End. Unfortunately, the killer came across the notable Marquis and his sister. When things turn from bad to worst and with no choice left, the marquis -in order to protect his sister, turned to the lesser evil, Kurosaki Ichigo.
1. Death and Evil May Day

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Warning: M content. Obviously. But not yet. Haha._

_Chapter Word Count:_ 1,596

_General Summary: There is a famous killer that currently terrorizes the whole of East End. Unfortunately, the killer came across the notable Marquis and his sister. When things turn from bad to worst and with no choice left, the marquis -in order to protect his sister, turned to the lesser evil, Kurosaki Ichigo._

**Death and Its Friends**

I

_Death and Evil May Day_

…**o0o…o0o…o0o…**

Good manners be damned.

_Tch_, _like the man in front of him deserved any._

And '_be damned'_ indeed, good manners had been discarded even before he could get his hands on him and beat him to death. Just the mere thought of it was enough _to not regard_ him as a person.

Tightening the dangling end of the blood-tinged bandage wrapped around his fist with his teeth, he swerved for another bone-breaking blow at the side of the man's head. The blow could definitely send an ordinary person straight to coma for years to come but unfortunately…

And very much unfortunately, the man who just received a fatal blow didn't seem fazed, though his head whipped viciously on the direction of the punch and there was a thin splatter of blood stretching on the wild grass across from where he sat shackled to a large mahogany tree to where his _supposed _tormentor's disregarded red coat lay.

The man's head remained tilted, wild mane of _white_ hair covered most of his face and yet _Renji_ did not miss the wide nasty smirk stretching on his face and the malicious yellow irises visible between white locks pointing at him, taunting and clearly screaming '_is that all_?'

And Renji already expecting this -for he had been wasting his energy for twenty minutes and the man still looked unscathed- contemplated about getting his own sword instead and tell his _Marquis_, Byakuya that he forgot about the prepared guillotine for this killer-maniac and he _accidentally_ killed him while on transport… Or maybe not, because the whole town would love to see this bastard's head fall on the ground and who is he to spoil the event.

Or he could pluck out both of his eyeballs, throw it out on the open fire to rid of those yellow eyes and sever his god-forsaken tongue to shut him up and he'll see if he could still do that smirk.

But he's soon to become a _Knight_ and the idea of presenting this famous killer-maniac whole and not-so-unharmed to the day of his execution seems to be a great idea of showing off especially now that he is to gain a title. But the idea is tempting him too much to-

"What a pansy." He heard him bit out audibly, spit out blood then managed to turned his head to the red head and stare him down _while sneering_ even when _basically_, he's the one down shackled to a tree.

Renji retuned his glare then punched him again for the umpteenth time; blame his personality for never letting a taunt pass, though he won't admit out loud that his knuckles had gone awry, begun bleeding profusely and started to get numb all due to the intensity of his punches. But then again, all of those don't seem to have any effects on the killer-maniac that made him more irritated.

Renji waited for him to say something else, perhaps another goad but nothing came. Instead the killer-maniac slowly moved his head back to its original position and came to sneer at Renji as he begun to lick the blood trickling down his pallid chin like it doesn't hurt the least bit.

And this, this silence made Renji wondered if he had caught the right person.

Did he really?

The maniac's too famed and feared that his horrid murders became the horror stories told to children to keep them in their beds, to those adults who are always out drinking at night for fear of losing their heads, a warning for those English Knights who dared challenge him and to those foolish prostitutes who wish to have a rough fuck but had the wrong client.

They say that he's too much of a savage he could pass for an animal -a wild wolf, that is.

No one knows where his dark and filthy obsession came from or even knew where he came from

And none of his victims survived long enough to tell their firsthand accounts but rumor has it that the maniac is a true mad-man. A nurse swore that he is an escaped hopeless deranged psychiatric patient from East End. Another said that he's the rebel son of an _Earl_ somewhere and that nobody understood his way of amusement and decided to disinherit him. One sure thing is that the victims don't have their heads with them after he's done. Fit an asylum better than running rampant because normal people don't go about parading extreme psychotic tirade nor walking with a sword, grinning from ear to ear and shirtless.

A year ago, Renji wouldn't believe a word of this because the stories were too ghastly to be true. Not until Byakuya –shortly after the demise of his wife, the late _Marquioness_- formally asked him to find and bring the killer here as an advance rightful-deed befitting the title of a future _Knight_. Although he knew Byakuya would rather hunt the killer himself -for the latter was strongly suspected for the death of his wife- but the weight of his work concerning _The_ _Queen_ is not something to ignore.

And a few hours ago before his capture, this killer, the man with the horrible white skin and hair was seen by an appalled nun –meters away from their nunnery- doing _unbelievably disgusting acts_ of hard sexual exploitation not bothering to contain the loud moans, screams of the woman and the corrupted laughter of the man in broad daylight within the grounds of a blessed property, no less.

The said nun immediately reported this to the _Madre Superiora_ who looked enraged by their insane sexual promiscuity and rushed to the scene in an attempt to reprimand them but one look at the man and apparently… she's very much aware of the horror stories herself.

Too bad, because the man saw her, saw the nunnery, saw the shaken virgins behind her and her fear made itself known when he sneered at them with bared teeth and a _very disturbing glint_ in his eyes.

_Madre Superiora_ could not think of a word other than 'extreme malice'.

She thought the demon had manifested itself in front of them when she saw him –not taking his eyes off them as if he found a new set of toys- reach for the neck of the woman he was just pounding. As if entranced, the woman welcomed it and bit out a muffled moan that would have been her last…

…the coroner would have a hard time realigning her body and her relatives would find it upsetting to view her in her casket for the maniac twisted her neck 360 degrees.

In fear that the maniac would soon corrupt, defile and besmirch her precious little virgins inside the nunnery seeing that he kills for fun, she contacted the _Marquis_ and reported that there _is_ a demon inside their compound with no absolute regard of the divinity of time and place bringing with him a prostitute and that they have no kind of protection whatsoever.

And **this is** the catalyst that allowed Renji to get a hold of the killer-maniac, to shackle him in this large tree with ten of his men watching over the killer-maniac while waiting for the transport to take him to the guillotine or if he's really ill-fated, they might decide to put him on _Death by Dissection and Hanging_ instead.

He started this 'beating' to impress the town to make it looked like they went thru hell and back to get the criminal to keep them happy with intrigue –though he really was prepared for hell because of the stories, they didn't expect it to be this easy.

But as he strike him, he's own temper was building up because it looked as though that the killer-maniac was _testing_ him and found him to be incompetent. Somewhere at the back of his mind -as he stared down at the bloody splashes covering him- though he had the seeming upper hand, _somehow_, he had the feeling that he was losing and he was the one shackled to that tree, being hit.

"Why aren't you fighting back?" Renji asked him as if a maniac like him –even if shackled- is fully expected to wipe the floor with him.

The killer raised his eyebrows like some genius piece of knowledge found its way on his head, threw his head back, and laughed nastily. He jangled his chains to show Renji that he's pretty much tied and therefore, cannot do anything, though the gleam in his eyes is very much suggestive that whatever happening is his choosing.

And with this, though it seemed foolish because he just wasted his energy into nothing, Renji had decided to end the twenty-four minute torment that did nothing to the killer.

Then Renji kneeled down in front of him, on eye level. He asked "what's your name?" thru gritted teeth.

"You don't know?"

"Just for confirmation so I can spell your name right when they call you on your execution."

The man grinned maliciously then his expression turned downright malevolent.

"_Hey, I'll let you on a secret_."

When the killer spoke, the goading and sneering was gone, replaced by a more decisive, menacing grin and a hissing voice that immediately alarmed every fiber of Renji's being.

"What?"

Renji heard a crunching sound like a busted metal, and then he saw the killer lift up his hands that were no longer cuffed, he hissed:

_"I heard your Marquis has a sister…and I'm no longer tied_._" _

…

…

…

**.….o0o…..**

The world is a cruel place.

It hurts.

The way this man was taking her innocence, it hurts.

The arches of her back, the miniscule moans she was making, none of it is true. The mouth ravaging her skin is not sincere. His touches are rough. Dreamy but the pain is real.

_Kurosaki _Rukia never dreamed of it. It's a bad fairy tale. The unwilling princess fell into a witch's cruel spell. The sister of the marquis reduced to this.

His handsome face and impressive physique are nothing but the smooth cover beneath the beastly nightmare stories parents tell their children.

_But he's the lesser evil, he's the best choice_.

…**o0O0o…**

_To be continued_

**Author's Note**

I'll pay my dues soon -reviews request and updates. Really sorry, been really busy with work and lately, Dissonencia fell in short prologue type fics. Story Updates are sitting here unfinished and some lost because of BSoD, too unfinished to be beta-ed.

Actually, this fic formed within an hour after a strong itch to write _something_ hit me for no apparent reason. Wish I'm like this so I don't have to deal with procrastination _and_ lack of time. I did not even inform my beta, NieveDrop. So sorry, I'll definitely send you something next Sunday.

And.

Recently, I've been very distracted by _Shingeki no Kyojin_. Cue: June. Just when I'm working and finalizing story updates to be submitted for beta-reading.

(_Thank you _for distracting me with SnK, Elyna, now I can't finish a thing… But you know I love it. _Kaarawan mo na nga pala…hmm…natapat pa sa payday, talaga naman. De bale, daanan nalang kita dyan sa USTe.)_

_Dat_ plot. _Dem_ characters. _Dis_ Manga. I particularly love, love, love the characters. They are so flawed, so imperfect and so faulty that I love it. *cough*Ymir'sWordsInTheLatestChapter,ThatKilledMe *cough* When my favorite characters finally die, I will seriously _fecking_ cry. Oh, I know Isayama-sensei will eventually kill them…well, most of them.

…

…

…

**Love me or Hate me?**

**Dissonencia.**


	2. Death and Her Deathday Part One

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Warning: _Rated M. OOC. Slightly non-linear. My persistent love of wallowing waist deep in the river of obscurity. Ambiguity is my security blanket and underneath is where I connect the dots. Dissonance is my penname.

_Chapter Word Count:_ 2,792

**Death and Its Friends**

II

_Death and Her Deathday _

_Part 1_

…**o0o…o0o…o0o…**

Rukia blended in perfectly with the crowd of toxic doves, harmful swans, and polite lions. The lone angel in the veiled white inferno. Perfectly curved lips and demure smile flashed and charmed gentlemen. Her posture carried the grace inherent in her family. The Polaris, its light so bright it was called the guiding light, was she. The subject of all talk. The wearer of a fine _Lucile_couture. The quiet beauty that spoke volumes.

Also, the exaggeration of playwrights and poets in their description.

It was evening when Rukia arrived at the venue. At exactly three seconds before eight, she entered through the double doors, which were held open by two well-dressed butlers. From the luscious greenery outside tainted with a De Dion steam, she now moved on to another show of wealth and regency in the West End: an opening ceremony for a charity hospital.

The faint smell of expensive wine immediately hit her senses, and it made her turn away from the tables filled with titled men and their gossiping wives. Those beautiful and proper women, who became wives to gentlemen with no less than gold pocket watches, looked at her, and that's when she knew the dim lights weren't any better. Despite the blurry haze these dim lights produced, the contempt hiding behind these ladies' sultry smiles was still discernible. Rukia returned their gesture with nothing but genuine show of required public politeness. After all, she learned to look like she grew up in their _habitat and played the same game they do_. The noise, as whispered by their dainty lips, came with sophisticated laughs and boastful growls from the men and bashful and quiet laughter from women.

Rukia knew the monotony of all of it.

Rukia, quiet and radiant, strode past these people in her simple elegance. The cerulean and white silk couture complimented her; the train of her customized but fitted gown glided behind her. Hair held in ornaments with the rarest gemstones from trade in southern Asia. The Smile that could reduce men to pieces in place.

Rukia Kuchiki was a lady from a well-known noble clan at this age of regency and refined sensibilities. One who did not complain and rebel but rather quietly followed the nobility as dictated and intricately burned in her mind after her adoption. One who was taught to dispose of emotion in favor of title. One who was questioned but not allowed to ask. One whose true self was heavily subdued by duties and responsibilities imposed by the society and ordered to _love_it.

**...0...**

Ichigo Kurosaki was not considered a member of regency; yet, here he was in the presence of the so-called elite, wearing a nice suit and sipping a very rare and expensive five-star wine. Elite only by name and birth. _Birthright_. Not by some remotely heroic deed but some dumb luck of procreation.

He didn't have that. He wasn't even a knight or a baron or a viscount. But the people, no -the fucking _elite_here knew his name.

Ichigo Kurosaki did not do dress up for parties, _fancy_parties. Not when he usually wore an off-white, pulled-up old shirt for his work. Not his best work clothes but neat enough for his prostitute and criminal patients.

In the _East End,_year _1888,_Ichigo Kurosaki was a surgeon.

And a damn excellent one, as some good and unknowing resident of Whitechapel would remark. So good that he didn't need to ask unafraid whores to open their legs in a routine gynecologic test. So precise that he knew a cardiac disorder at first assessment. So intimidating and so brash that he'd injure those who attempted to rob him immediately.

Never mind that his methods differed from the standard procedures. Never mind that he didn't look like the nice physician, like those in a West End neighborhood. Never mind that he had a certain dark streak in his personality. People ignored this for his talent or were simply drawn to his baleful but charismatic aura.

And these elite people actually _craved_him to be here.

.**..0...**

Being the sister of a _Marquis_ meant that Rukia's seat belonged at the best table. The table where the best carnation arrangement, candles, and platters were. The first one to be served. The venue was the great hall of a very prominent theater in the West End. Its owner was very much involved in stage performances and was alleged to have a scandalous affair with the soprano who played Floria Tosca in the West End premiere of La Tosca. And to halt his wife from spurning scandalous claims, the owner built a hospital and named it after his spiteful wife. Tonight, they celebrated the opening of the medical institution.

Because it was a hospital opening, the theme was that of cleanliness and purity: _white_. Something that was not remotely Dickensian in description but rather ideal and _clean_. Carnations and peonies decorated the China vases, which were set meticulously on an arranged silk table cloth. The window curtains and furniture were all paralleled to the celebrated English decadence. A celebrated pianist contributed to the already palpable elegance. It is not a state banquet, but it would very much rival one. And Rukia found herself sitting in the middle of it.

Her own brother_,_who was also a subject of much talk, was not able to attend due to some serious issue with a trading company and a vague yet truly tragic event concerning nuns earlier this day. She heard that her friend, Renji Abarai, went to investigate the place.

Rukia sat achingly silent and deeply proper at the heavily garnished table for dinner. She sat at the perfect and absolutely faultless angular sitting position for a lady; if computations should be made, it would result in congruent geometry. She only answered politely when asked. She was a doll, like the expensive porcelain doll one of the brigadier-general's daughter's has, complete with its frills. And no, she didn't partake in the discussion among the men but was mentally surprised that she could keep up with whatever they were talking about. Even so, she did not try to join. However, she maintained her steely and deep gaze and her attention for any important current social information, be it financial, innovation, or scientific. They were talking about politics and wealth, _of course_; no room for a lady's opinion.

The famous Rukia Kuchiki was really a smart lady. Many of her talents and inner passion were _vastly veiled_ by thick fabric spun from restriction and rules. Her passionate and loud side dimmed to fade slowly. The result was an outwardly shallow and respectable lady polished for a display window. And worse was that she has no reason to break away from it.

In a round table for twelve, there was one seat unoccupied, directly in front of her. Rukia wondered in thought, who could it be? The wealthiest banker was right beside her, together with his striking brunette wife, who wore emerald earrings as large as a man's toenails and were complimented by an embroidered Charles Worth. To her left was the widowed heiress of a French patisserie company, a middle aged, auburn-haired lady with twinkling blue eyes and the throatiest French accent Rukia ever heard. Beside this woman was the old and grumpy, former minister of Education with his boisterous son, who—according to the latest rumors—sent a girl he met and impregnated to work as a seamstress in the most poverty-stricken place and ordered her to lie about it. There was another German couple at her far side that did not speak English, but she was told that they were big in motor steam production. The brigadier general was in attendance, too, together with his Vionnet-draped wife and well-behaved children.

This left her the question as to whom the last seat belonged to.

_"_Would you like orgeat or ratafia, my lady?"

Rukia's eyes met the steely, grey eyes of the old butler in a split second before he bowed down. Rukia stared at him; his head bowed low enough in respect of her, and she briefly wondered how he kept his expensive uniform without creases even with that bended position.

"My lady?"

Oh.

"Orgeat, please." Her voice was too cold, like ice. After a moment, she smelled the almond from her drink and then continued to bask in pointless monotony.

The night's proceedings were going on as predicted without something certainly remarkable or unusual happening. Rukia had been in gatherings like this countless times before, and she briefly wondered when they were going to give the customary goodbye kiss on the cheek or hand when her short-standing mental question was answered.

She was so surprised that such a man so out of place in this gathering exists.

When the unidentified, _unruly_–from a person raised in nobility would comment—man arrived in front of them in an imposing and relatively oppressing manner, Rukia stared up at him.

"Ah, The physician," she heard the wealthy banker say as he stood up and shook the physician's hand.

_The physician?_

"Welcome." The banker said, grinning from ear to ear. "We admire your work. Truly commendable for such a young man."

"Mister Kurosaki, is it?"

The man nodded.

_Kurosaki?_ Rukia thought. She never knew a noble house that bore the Kurosaki name. Countryside? Or must be a foreigner?

The man had such an absurd hair color that many of the guest turned to see him. He was obviously not part of the high regency but the way he carried himself with that remarkable rough charisma was enough to discern that he had a decent upbringing. But it still bordered on street-like behavior.

"S_uu_ch _aa_n _oh_-nor, _Monsieur_ K_oo_-ros-_aah_-k_ee_." The lady with the heavy French accent lifted her hand and offered it to the orange haired man.

The unfamiliar man stared at her diamond-studded ring and black lace gloved hand then at her face, his eyes unfathomable. Everyone at the table stared at him and the French lady had no difficulty maintaining her hand unmoving afloat and waited for his lips to pay her a polite greeting with a smooth and unwavering smile on her beautiful visage.

Even with the scowling face and absurd hair color, the ladies could still see he's definitely a man with magnetic, masculine charms. Not exactly regal-looking and prim, but roguish and enigmatic in his potent appeal. He wore a fitted, lightweight black tailcoat worn over a white shirt and black trousers. His leanness was very evident as with his every move, his clothes hinted an ideal male body beneath. His hair, despite its appalling color, framed his face faultlessly with its length as well as highlighting the angles of his jaw. His eyes, however, seemed to persist in that unwavering intensity it has.

The orange-haired man's eyes met Rukia's frosty eyes and lingered for a second before he looked away. He sat without as much as an apologetic glimpse at the French lady and signaled the maître d' to bring him a drink.

"Oh?" the French lady wondered audibly and slowly withdrew her hand. None of the ladies present in this table attempted to greet him. Some men exchange careful glances; they knew this young man could be really brash and disrespectful of others. But then, he's a seasoned young physician and the world is certainly waiting for him. It would be good to have someone like him in their circle of connection.

It was awkward and some of the occupants of the table thought it was definitely a wrong decision to invite a man like him here. The physician looked like he didn't want to be here.

"Oh, I heard Mister Kurosaki came from another culture." The wealthy banker assured the French lady, and hoped to deter whatever angry burst about impolite greeting she might have.

"…_ees iit_?" The French lady barely audibly said. She was clearly annoyed but had it completely covered. It is very uncommon to refuse to lightly kiss a lady's hand, especially if the lady came from a high-status family.

"I've heard of…_stories_. They say you have such fine hands, as light as that of a Bird of Paradise's feather and you are as skilled as a hyena on the hunt." The wife of the brigadier-general started. She kept on glancing hesitatingly at her husband, who urged her to go on. They do not want awkward silence to consume this table.

Rukia silently wondered about the comparison, _a hyena_?

"Son, pray tell, what exactly is the name of the hospital you lend your talent to?" Asked the former minister, clutching a glass of dark red wine. "Is there any chance that you might want to stay here and grace this new hospital your brilliance?"

The physician looked at him before he answered nonchalantly, "I have a clinic in East End. I work for criminals. And no, I'm loyal to them."

It seemed that the gentlemen who used to work in luxurious settings were all utterly aghast at the idea of someone talented like him in such an area. Some of the ladies gasped at his crude way of speaking. That is no way of speaking in a formal dining occasion. And more importantly, in _East End_? There are good people that reside there but there are certainly bad ones too. What was he thinking?

"Forgive me for asking, but we are aware that you gained your scholarly degree in Medicine in Marburg and worked in the hospital founded by Saint Landry. What is it that made you leave such grandeur?"

Ichigo chuckled darkly: "Well, criminals and prostitutes need care too."

There was silence and everyone knew that was the end of the very short conversation.

"_That is interesting_."

Rukia, who was keeping daintily silent all the time, for the first time spoke, her attention only for the man.

"_Really_?" He asked more, staring straight at her eyes; such beautiful rare color. _He has been waiting for her to say something the whole night_.

And when she offered no reply, he knew he had to get to her tonight. He wouldn't waste a trip here for this woman to tell him three words only.

From the careless talk of decadence among the nobles, the mood quickly shifted to unpleasant exchange. Everyone except Ichigo and Rukia looked obviously relieved when the dining staff started bringing out courses for the night.

…**0…**

_After a few hours._

"You." Rukia stopped walking and slowly turned her back from the waiting car.

She saw the physician smirking pointedly at her. _Smirking_, or at least, his jaw was slightly lopsided and there's a certain gleam in his eyes.

"You don't talk much." He said. "It looked you have a lot to say. I've been watching you the whole night."

"Excuse me?" Rukia stared at the man, he was definitely brash and impolite.

"You should come with me, you'll be a lot more liberated –I mean, without social restrictions. We can talk and do things."

Rukia just stared at him and digested his words. He sounded bizarre. He shouldn't be casually asking a woman out of nowhere to come with him in the middle of the night, include the word 'liberated' in his sentence and 'imply' un-ladylike things.

"I'm not wealthy, I'm not sure if I can relate to you or not but I would just like to hear your voice." The man ran his hair with his hand.

Rukia considered for a moment if this dubbed genius physician is psychologically problematic. He was evidently anti-social at their table, now he's casually asking her to come with him with implications of inappropriate interest. She read cases of Dementia Praecox in early adulthood back when she was in Prague for a vacation and stumbled on medical journals for leisure reading. Either way, it would be risky to go with him. Not that she seriously considered his offer.

"I am sorry, but are you mad?"

She wasn't sure if that was an appropriate question. And it was too straightforward too.

"Why would you think that? And no, I'm not." The man smiled at her, different from the smirk and menacing gleam she saw moments ago. He was sporting a bright smile.

She will never accompany him anywhere.

"Well then, pleased to make your acquaintance." She turned back to the waiting car, eager to get away from him when she heard footstep gaining behind her and looked back to see him a mere inches from her. She faced him and so did he. Rukia looked around for anybody, there was no one else.

Despite his bizarre behavior, he looked at her calmly and looked like as if he's trying not to look too threatening.

He's no longer smiling.

Carefully, he said; "I don't know you but frankly; you looked like you're fed up with shit happening to you. You really should come with me."

…**o0O0o…**

_To be continued_

**Author's Note**

This was partially beta-ed by NieveDrop way back. A huge, huge thanks to her. XD She's currently beta-ing my longest chapter one ever (30K words) and another fic in which I 'attempted' _romansu_ stuff, so I really don't want to bother her that much anymore. Oh hey, we all do have RLs so yeah.

Dementia Praecox's modern name is Schizophrenia.

…

…

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**Love me or Hate me?**

**Dissonencia.**


End file.
